


Branded

by attimesIalmostdream



Series: Musain Stables [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Horse AU, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attimesIalmostdream/pseuds/attimesIalmostdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were some things that could be said at midnight, cocooned in blankets and warm bodies and darkness, that were impossible to speak of during the day.</p><p>A prequel of sorts to I Wanna Be Your Partner, Partner</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branded

When Valjean first found Cosette, she had been angry and frightened. She didn't remember much of her mother- only her golden hair and sweet, bird-like voice, both of which had been inherited by Cosette- but she remembered what came after. Vividly. There was pain, and darkness, and the salty bitterness of tears. There were sharp tongues and sharper hands. Mothers were supposed to protect their children; hers gave her to the monsters.

Valjean knew Fantine differently. She had been kind and single-mindedly dedicated to providing for her daughter even if that meant leaving her in the care of others. She had been young, too, and completely, utterly alone.

And sick. Valjean would have helped her with anything, but by the time he got her to the hospital there was nothing to doctors could do.

At first he thought Cosette's anger was directed at himself, for not saving her. But it was Fantine who had left her, and forgiveness was a word that had to be pulled unwillingly from her lips.

**  
**

There was a time when Grantaire thought the only person who ever loved him was his sister. She was the one who let him crawl into her bed on bad nights, who kissed his knees and elbows when he fell (and later his back, where their father's belt had raised angry welts). She was seven years his senior, and a few times he had called her Mama, but only when their real parents couldn't hear.

His worst nightmares where of his mother's arm wrapped tight around his waist, of the wet November air, of his father screaming don't come back, don't you ever come back. His worst memory was of his sister's back growing smaller and smaller, hunched against the cold and the cruel voice.

Valjean, bless him, tried everything. Some things- like Asteria and therapy sessions- worked, but he and Cosette learned to be extra affectionate around Thanksgiving and to not speak too loudly, especially when angry. His skin cracked and creaked like tin around his smile, when he could manage one, and Cosette spent her time thinking of ways to oil him.

**  
**

Gavroche was too young to remember much, but Eponine remembered enough for both of them. She was skittish around Cosette at first, because there was no way either of them could forget the days when Eponine had been as cruel as the Thenardiess. Eponine walked like she was going into battle but she was too afraid of using her words as weapons so she mostly said nothing.

She was quickly enfolded into their late night support group.

Azelma had been the favorite child, rarely yelled at, never harmed. It was a complete accident that killed her- the Thenardiers weren't big on safety, and didn't enforce wearing helmets. Her death sparked a chain of police investigations, and there was talk of splitting Ep and Gav up to different foster families but then Valjean swooped in to save the day, because that's what he does in spare time apparently.

Cosette joked about renaming Musain Valjean's Home for Wayward Children. It took a few weeks for Eponine to smile at that.

**  
**

On the surface, at least, Feuilly seemed happy. Valjean was a little thrown at first, having a well-adjusted teenager fall into his lap, but every morning the bags under his eyes got progressively bigger and he steadfastly refused to travel by car.

Cosette was the first to notice, because she had a lot of practice seeing through a person's facade. The first night the four of them tried to share a bed, Grantaire woke up when he hit the floor. Cosette and Eponine had their hands full, trying to calm the boys down (the fall had triggered a panic attack from R and a metric fuckton of guilt from Feuilly). They didn't give up, though, because loneliness was like a disease and even though they'd all lost family Feuilly was the only one who'd lost a home. (He'd been the second out of four children and he'd opted to stay home and work on a report rather than go out to dinner with his family. The other driver was drunk and didn't see the red light.)

A few days later, they came home to find Cosette's queen sized bed replaced by a king. Things got easier after that.

**  
**

There were some things that could be said at midnight, cocooned in blankets and warm bodies and darkness, that were impossible to speak of during the day. Things like _it was my fault_ and _if only I had gone with them_ and _I don't understand how she could have left me._ They leaned on one another, reasoned each other out of their guilt and anger through sheer logic and strength of will- fault was a word eventually banned from Eponine's tongue unless it referred to her mother and Feuilly's if onlys were battled by aggressive hugs.

It was easier to make sense of pain when it wasn’t your own.

They discussed happier things, too- fond memories were meant to be shared. Laughter tasted bitter in their mouths but it was better than tears; smiles became less stiff with practice.

 _I miss them,_ one would often sigh, and the others would murmur assent. Missing was allowed; nostalgia hung like a heavy mist, curling deep into their lungs. Darkness hid glistening eyes but did nothing for ragged breaths and half choked voices.

 _I don't want to forget_ , Feuilly once said, staring at the five stylized names written over and over again on his hands with magic marker. Smudged vines were already tangled around Grantaire's arm, barely visible due to his dark skin and weak light. They had all resigned to becoming canvases ages ago; out of all Grantaire's nervous ticks, this one was their favorite. He always asked what they wanted, though. Cosette often went to school with poppies hidden under the itchy sleeves of her sweater. Eponine preferred to bare thorny roses proudly on her palms, defiant in the face of the Catholic school dress code.

Feuilly asked for names more often than not.

It had been his idea- marker washed away far too quickly for his liking- but the others were quickly convinced by the promise of permanence.

 _People exist outside your perception_ , said Cosette, _But it's nice to have reminders_. On most days her pockets contained her papa's handkerchief, one of Grantaire's pens, hair clips from Eponine, and a small metal trinket Feuilly had fashioned out of wire. She regretted not having an object belonging to her mother, but even Valjean had been unable to save anything. She was the one who managed to get him on board. Valjean was reluctant at first to allow fourteen year old Feuilly to get inked, let alone the other three twelve year olds. They would be small, Cosette promised, and classy. Easily hidden. Valjean had sighed and rubbed his chest, where his own brand, a remnant from prison, stood out harshly against his skin. He understood as well as anyone the need for a reminder.

And so he signed the necessary paperwork and payed enough that the artist never raised an eyebrow, not even when he found the crisscross of scars on Grantaire's back, merely finding a space between them. Feuilly wondered later if Valjean had explained the situation beforehand, but it didn't really matter. They all went home with bandages and painkillers and a settled feeling in their stomachs.

It took a few days to get used to, seeing flashes of the thin cursive on Eponine's wrist or Cosette's ankle. Feuilly and Grantaire had chosen more hidden places, but they were still hyper aware of the ink that curled under their shirts. Touching the names became a way of anchoring themselves, be it with a light press of a finger or an almost desperate grasp.

The idea of branding never sat right in Grantaire's stomach yet he couldn't help but compare his own mark to Asteria's raised O and crown, denoting her heritage. He thought of the other names, all written in the same hand, joining the four of them to their past and to each other.

For a long time he thought his family started and stopped at his sister, but the brand solidified the inevitable. That night at dinner he offhandedly called Cosette 'sis' and her smile was brighter than the sun and moon combined.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to make Asteria an Oldenberg, because I rode an Oldenberg mare for three years and she remains to this day one of my favorite horses. The brand for Oldenbergs is a O with a crown over it and numbers underneath.


End file.
